


Russian Holliday

by dog2222222222222222



Category: Political RPF
Genre: Action, Angst, Depression, Drama, Love, M/M, Politics, Porn, Romance, Sex, Tony Abbott - Freeform, Vladimir Putin - Freeform, b - Freeform, dubcon, dubcon in later chapter, lack of politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-09 06:30:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3239753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dog2222222222222222/pseuds/dog2222222222222222
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tony Abbott's life falls apart there is one man from his past that reappears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Once tnoy abbot was governing australia and everyone was hating on him 

"we hate ou tonny abbott you stupid man" said all pf australia at once 

"stop it guys im trying to govenr my country and i need to concentrate stop hating " said tony abott with a singel tear falling from his beautiful eye (i want to stroke it )

then tony wife walked in wit hhis children and said "tony i am leaving you stupid awful person yo are a bad prime minister so we are moving to jacksonville florida" said tonys wife

"no not my children" said tony abbott

but tony s children did not care and did not like him so they did not say anything. "come on kids lets go" said their mom and they closed the door and tony abbot cried for ever as he listend to the yells of angry australian citizens 

"why wont anyone like me " said tony "all i want is to be a good prime minitser is that too much to ask" 

then god come down from the heaven and says "yes" 

and tony continue to cry in misery the poor sod.


	2. Chapter 2

Suddenly there was a rap at the door. Tony immediately stood and tried to compose himself. He straightened his tie and jacket, preparing for the unknown visitor to enter.

"You may enter," said Tony, who was facing the window, staring out into the garden where he was often tempted during long periods of boredom. 

The visitor entered the room with a click of the door handle. Immediately, from the reflection in the window, Tony knew who the visitor was and did not bother to turn around and greet his guest like a proper gentleman should. He could not let his temptation, which was slowly rising inside of him, show, not now, especially when he was already so vulnerable. So he kept his back turned to his guest, the name which sat familiarly on the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill out of his mouth along with so many other emotions, however, he refrained and kept his composure. 

"Vladimir," he said the name carefully, with emphasis on each syllable to try to make it sound less familiar than it felt. "What are you doing here?" 

Vladimir stopped in front of his desk, frame straight and steady as always. His posture, as always, is perfect, like that of a dancer or a military man. A stance like that had to come with some sort of heavy discipline. He crossed his arms in front of himself, looking from the prime minister's desk briefly and meeting Tony's eyes in the glass reflection as he cleared his throat softly, preparing to speak. 

"I wanted to see you, that is all." The Russian president spoke in choppy English coated in a thick Russian accent. He was not hard to understand, but he seemed to edge on being unable to comprehend. Tony listened hard as he spoke so that he did not miss a single sharp and robust word that came out of Vladimir's mouth. 

"Today really is not a good day," Tony said, succeeding in sounding almost monotone and nonchalant, but Vladimir was a smart man, an extremely intelligent one at that. He knew people, knew how they ticked, could calculate their reactions and emotions, could use those emotions to manipulate them into getting what he wanted. Vladimir Putin was smart. Vladimir Putin could practically smell the fear radiating from Tony. 

"Why lie to me?" Vladimir asked in a steady tone. Tony swallowed audibly. Vladimir no doubt knew that Tony was hiding something. Probably already knew what he was hiding. It was Tony after all, and he knew Tony so very well. 

Tony turned around, hands in his pockets and eyes to the floor, hesitant at first but started to speak nonetheless. 

"Well, I-"

"Stop there." Vladimir almost ordered. Tony closed his mouth. "Stand to face me." Tony did as he was told. "You were going to lie to me again. I could tell by your eyes. You always look at the floor when you lie to me." 

"How do you know me so well?" Tony half-said half-whispered as he squinted at Vladimir, trying to very slightly size him up, one leg in front of the other, hands out of his pockets and at his sides.

Vladimir laughed to himself and looked to Tony once more, meeting his eyes. "How could you not remember, after all that time we spent together?" 

Tony settled at Vladimir's words, almost shrinking in his suit, his face turning red his hands finding their way back into their respective pockets. He looked to the floor and then back at the Russian man in front of his desk. 

"That was years ago and you know it. Why are you bringing this up?" 

Vladimir straightened his neck tie.

"Actually, that's what I have come to visit you about." 

"What do you mean, Putin?" Tony squinted interrogatively at Vladimir. The Russian man seemed to be slightly taken aback by the use of his last name.

"Have we really reverted back to using last names, that really is quite immat-"

"That was FIVE YEARS AGO," Tony said loudly as he stared Vladimir right in the face. 

"I still love you." 

Tony's heart immediately skipped a beat. His entire body went cold as fear pierced through his chest, unable to blink, unable to speak, unable to move at all. He wondered exactly what Putin could read from him now, wondered if he could taste the fear and embarrassment and pain and tension in the air. He wondered what the man would say next, was prayed for him to speak first. But the Russian man remained stoic and silent, stared at Tony with a barely amused expression, hands crossed in front of him, eyes fixed on the man behind the desk. 

"What did you say-" Tony began but was cut off by the sharp, smoky voice of Vladimir. 

"You heard what I had to say." 

"Yes, but why-" 

"Because I still love you, is that a good enough reason for you?"

"No, it's not that, just-"

"Maybe I should just leave, it is quite obvious that my love is not reciprocated, Prime Minister, is there anyone capable of showing me out of here-" 

"Wait." Tony said, abruptly cutting Vladimir off as he was about to turn and walk for the door. "Just wait."

Vladimir stood at attention once more, waiting patiently for Tony to speak. 

"My wife, Margaret," He began with a slightly shaking voice, "She left me. My wife left me." He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled, looking to the floor. The Russian man stared on. 

"When?" Vladimir asked softly.

"Just a few hours ago." 

Vladimir began to walk forward, looking like he was about to step behind the desk, but Tony shot him a look that told him to stay put. 

"Look, I don't know, this...this just happened." Tony ran another hand through his hair. Vladimir gave the most pathetic look that he could manage and ignored his silent order to stay put. He walked behind the desk and invaded Tony's space before he could manage to protest, locking him in a warm embrace. Tony, despite the voice inside his head screaming at him that this was wrong and that he should stop, he sunk into it, instinct taking over. He leaned his head down on the Russian's shoulder. 

Tony then realised what he was doing and immediately pushed Vladimir away. 

"Get off of me!" he grunted as he shoved Putin out of his personal space. He looked at him with angry eyes. Vladimir looked ashamed as he stared down at the floor. 

"Look, five years ago I might have needed you, but now, the only thing I need from you is to GET OUT!"

"I was trying to be comforting," Vladimir said calmly.

"We both know that's not true! Jesus Christ, Margaret left me an HOUR ago, hell--I know why you came here, Putin," Tony snarled and stepped forward, jabbing Vladimir, who remained stoic, in the chest with his index finger, "and it wasn't out of compassion and CERTAINLY not out of love. I know what you want. I am not as simple as you would think. GET OUT." 

Tony viciously pointed to the door. Vladimir still remained expressionless. 

"Fine, I will go," Vladimir said simply as he turned around and walked toward the door. He paused before he twisted the handle.   
"I'm here if you need me."   
He then left, clicking the door softly behind him. Tony turned toward the window and stared outside into the garden behind him, trying his best to calm down.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> my rom meat isnt writing this I AM STOP BEING A DINK 
> 
> i rite my own story. 
> 
> I M NOT AN AUSTRALAN OOK, SO I DONT LIVE IN ASTRALA . DONT YEL AT ME FOR BEING WRONG. 
> 
> bye 
> 
> thans to joch aka josh for the inspire because when he is a ding us he inspire me to wite to stop being mad at thim i hate josh he donesnt even know how to make a meam OKAY

The sun had finally set and the sky appeared to be almost iridescent. A lovely, ambient glow took over the master bedroom, evening slowly fading to early dusk. Tony fell back onto the king sized bed that occupied the centre of his bedroom. Though centred in the room, it was pushed up against the wall of the left side. On each side of the bed there was a small table, on the top of each sat a pricey, almost nouveau-looking sort of lamp and a plain digital alarm clock. The only thing that was different about the two tables was that one was completely free of clutter while the other appeared to be used. Margaret had cleared everything out of her side of the bedroom. One half of the closet was empty. The morning slippers that were always at her side of the bed were gone. The stack of books on her night stand was no more. She had left and taken all of her belongings with her, leaving Tony with a half empty room and a completely empty heart.

He sighed and mindlessly caressed the corner of his pillowcase. It was white silk, along with the entire set of bedclothes. Margaret had chosen them only a few months ago. He remembered a little bit, Margaret had told him over dinner that she has chosen a new set because she was no longer pleased with the old. He had never really paid attention to those sorts of mundane things- new haircuts, new curtains, new perfume, new dresses- he sighed and ran a hand across his face. No wonder Margaret had left him. He laid there, spread like an eagle, staring up at the ceiling, feeling an entirely new kind of emptiness come over him. Margaret was gone. Margaret was gone and she would most likely not be coming back. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to throw himself at her feet and beg for forgiveness, beg her to come home. He felt incredibly empty. And so he laid there, crippled, unable to move, unable to shed a tear, almost unable to breathe. The silence was deafening and the darkness was beginning to beckon him into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.

 

He felt a buzz in his pocket.

 

He jolted awake and reached for his phone. All he though of was Margaret, and how she could be texting to apologise, how she was probably telling him that she was coming home, how she could right now be messaging him to tell him to unlock the door because she had left her key. He unlocked the screen and read the message.

 

 

He hesitated for a moment to breathe, and then exhaled. For a moment he was confused, and then incredibly disappointed. 

 

And then cold dread pierced through his chest like he had been shot point blanc. 

 

He sat up a little, supporting himself with his elbow as he stared at the LED screen and read the message. The voice of its author repeated the words in his head, needling at the innermost part of his ears. 

_Callmecallmecallmecallmecallmecallme._

 

It seemed like his bedroom was trying to suffocate him as he finally took a proper deep breath and sat up all the way. The air he breathed became cold and stale. The tension in his rigid muscles was palpable. 

 

Calmly (as calm as he was able to be), he began to type the reply. He looked it over and then sent it. 

 

 

Breathlessly, he waited for a reply. 

His phone buzzed.

 

 

Tony was getting impatient. His hands shook as he typed. All he wanted was to sleep. He sent his reply. 

 

 

Almost immediately there was a buzz, followed by a reply. 

 

 

Tony let out a shaky breath. He knew that he would be assaulted with messages demanding that he call if he did not do as he was ordered. He went to dial the number that he had so readily been sitting on his fingertips. He knew it almost all too well and cursed himself for memorising it, cursed himself for being so weak, so _dependent_. He was disgusted with himself for days whenever he dialled the number. He knew that he would familiarise with the feeling once again. He reckoned that it was better than the emptiness that would inevitably swallow him alive. He thought that maybe the disgust and self-loathing and hatred would hold off the emptiness, just for a little while. 

With each number, with each finger pad that pressed up against the screen, he felt as though he was tearing off little pieces of his sanity and selling them to the devil. 

He brought the phone slowly up to his ear. Dread and anticipation filled him more and more with each ringing sound. 

There was a crackle after 4 rings. The sound of someone on the end of the receiver. Tony didn't dare breathe. 

They sat there like that for a long time- Tony trembling and suffocating as he sat at the side of his bed and the devil himself breathing deep on the other side of the phone.

After a moment, the man on the other end spoke.

 

"I know you are there." 

 

The voice was sharp, smooth, heavily accented. _Familiar._

Tony always thought that he never sounded like he looked. The first time he heard the other man's voice, he was shocked, having expected it to be deeper, more baritone. But it was crisp and in it's own way, robust. Most of all, it was intimidating- teased at the secrets it kept, secrets that could ruin lives, and was constantly dripping with deceit and terror and taunting and _blood lust_. The worst part was that Tony could not seem to keep himself away. 

"Y-yes, I'm here." Tony mentally slapped himself for sounding weak and inferior, for his voice betraying him, stuttering and shaking around his words. 

 

"Good," the voice on the end clipped. 

 

"What do you want?" Tony asked, this time sounding more confident, the exact opposite of what he really felt. 

 

Silence on the other end. Tony swallowed and tried to breathe as normally as possible. There was a shuffle in the background and then the voice spoke again. 

 

"To talk to you." 

 

"Why do you want to talk to me?" Tony asked, suddenly feeling exhausted. 

 

"About today." 

 

Tony mentally cursed. He had been trying to forget the events that had transpired that afternoon. He remembered leaning his head down on a warm, broad shoulder, hands resting at the expanse of a strong, military-hardened back... 

 

"There is nothing more for us to discuss, I thought I had made that clear." 

 

"Another lie," The voice crooned over the line, "How easy it is to tell with you..." 

 

"You're a manipulative bastard and I want you to leave me alone," Tony bravely stated. He felt as though his insides were shrivelling up and turning to dust. 

 

"You need me." 

 

The line went silent though the two of them were still connected. This time it was Tony who was breathing heavily down the line while the voice remained silent. 

 

"I. Don't. Need. You." Tony growled through gritted teeth. 

 

The voice laughed. 

 

"You will." 

 

Tony exhaled in frustration. 

 

"Listen, you. I meant what I said earlier, every single word. Get out out my life. Get out before I call security." 

 

It was an incredibly lame threat, but Tony had nowhere else to turn. It made the man on the other side of the line laugh a bit harder.

 

"Say my name." 

 

"No."

 

"Say it." 

 

The voice was not angry, never angry. Just cool, smooth, robust in its own way. Very collected. It intimidated Tony. 

 

"I don't have to," Tony said simply. 

 

"That's being childish." 

 

"Why?" Asked Tony, hoping for an introspective sort of answer. 

 

"Because I like to hear you say it," The voice answered. 

 

"Of course you do, you sick fuck. What, you get off at throwing out commands just for the sake of having power over people?" 

 

"No. I like to hear you say it. Simply that." 

 

"Now you're being a liar," Tony said. 

 

"How was that a lie?" The man asked. 

 

"'Simply that'. There has to be another reason, how ridiculous." 

 

The man laughed, soft but honest. 

 

"Do you really believe that it is so impossible for someone to genuinely and honestly be in love with you?" 

 

Tony froze. 

 

"My God, you really do think that," the man continued, honestly shocked.

 

"You know nothing about love, Vladimir. What we had was not love. NEVER in a million years would I call it love. You are a sadistic, manipulative, lying prick."

 

Vladimir was silent. 

 

"You used me. You used me for sex. How is that love?"

 

"You said my name," Vladimir said. 

 

"I don't care any more!" Shouted Tony, throwing his free hand in the air and standing to pace the room nervously. "You want to fuck me. That's why you called me. That's why you came to my office. It wasn't out of love. It wasn't out of you caring about me or any of that! It was about _you_. It was never about me or what I wanted. You didn't give a fuck that my wife had just walked out on me. You went right on ahead and tried to fucking _seduce_ me in my own office!"

 

"I was trying to be comforting," Vladimir interrupted. 

 

"NO. Shut. _Up_. Let me finish," Tony snapped. "You are _done_. You are done using me. You were done five years ago. _We_ were done five years ago, Jesus Christ! Now you come waltzing back into my fucking life asking me if I want to pick up where we left off? No! That's not how love works, Vladimir, that's not how _ANY_ of this works! It certainly isn't how I work! I am done! I am done being used by you! I'm not some pawn that you can just fucking move wherever you please! If you think that's love, you're a fucking psychopath. I've said what I want to say, now get the fuck out of my life. Good bye." Tony exhaled and moved his phone to hang up when he heard Vladimir's tinny voice through the receiver.

 

"Wait." 

 

It was one singe word, and Tony could have hung up on him in an instant but he didn't. _Story of my life,_ he thought. 

He didn't immediately bring the phone back to his ear but stood, looking down at the screen in his hand, staring at it almost challengingly. 

 

"What." He said sternly at the screen. He hesitated to put the phone back to his ear and slowly moved the speaker to his face. 

 

"Please let me explain to you." 

 

"Explain away." 

 

"No, I mean that I would like to speak with you in person." 

 

"No, that is not happening, absolutely not." 

 

"TONY. PLEASE."

 

Tony was taken aback at the sudden use of his name. 

 

"Why?" 

 

"Because we need to talk. We didn't talk five years ago and we are hardly talking now. Only shouting. We need to talk." 

 

"I've said everything that needs to be said." 

 

"I haven't." 

 

"I have all night, talk away." 

 

"No, I can't, I need to talk to you in person. Please." 

 

The line was silent for a moment. 

 

"Please, Tony. Stop being a child." 

 

It felt like Vladimir was saying 'be weak, give in, crawl back to me'. Tony felt like he was going to bust at the seams because he knew that he would give in, he knew that he would forever be like Vladimir's dog, following him wherever he may go, obeying his every omnipotent command. He was weak, he was inferior, he was beneath, and no matter what kind of a show he put on, no matter how hard he tried to get Vladimir to see him as an equal, he would always fail and fall back on his instinct of always needing and always trying to feel like he is needed just as much. 

 

"Okay," Tony half-whispered as his voice cracked, along with every barricade that he had built around him, every suit of armour that he wore,  and every shield that he held. 

 

 


End file.
